


Samaritan

by Hekate1308



Series: The Crowley Chronicles [39]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: Dean didn’t really know why this was another secret he had decided to keep for himself. It was certainly not as dangerous, or crazy, or even strange as some others.And yet, here he was again.Crowley survival story.





	Samaritan

Dean didn’t really know why this was another secret he had decided to keep for himself. It was certainly not as dangerous, or crazy, or even strange as some others.

And yet, here he was again.

He slowly walked down the corridors of the hospital, once more donned in his fed suit. At least the doctors and nurses believing that he was a federal agent meant he had access at all times of the night.

One of them – nurse Gibran, he remembered just in time, smiled at him. “Good evening, agent Rudd. Back again?”

He nodded and walked on.

When he arrived at the door of the private room of the John Doe he had been visiting for a little over six months now, he took a deep breath before carefully opening it, as if arrived to disturb the guy in a freaking coma.

Yeah, nothing about this made any sense at all.

And yet he felt relieved as ever as he saw him lying there, still breathing, still – or maybe once more – alive. “Hey Crowley.”

_Really, it was just coincidence that Dean was the one to visit the hospital that day. It wasn’t far from the bunker – just a half-hour drive, in fact – and there might have been a haunting, based on the few information that they had been able to glean from the press. It was probably nothing, so he’d offered to go alone. He needed to clear his head anyway, and a drive was sure to do him good._

_And so here he was, pretty sure after about an hour of investigating that there was indeed no one haunting this hospital. The EMF meter showed nothing, no one had seen any pale people flitting about, and it seemed the unusually high number of deaths in the last few weeks had just been coincidence._

_Just as well. One less thing to worry about._

_But just as he’s contemplating stopping for a drink on his way back, a door next to him opens and a nurse leaves a room where a patient is lying –_

_And all he could do was stop and stare. She thankfully took his shock as well-meant interest and said simply, “Coma patient. A John Doe – he’s been here for almost a year now, and no one’s come to claim him.”_

_“Oh” Dean managed to say, his throat dry. “That’s sad.”_

_She nodded. “But well – hope springs everlasting”. She gave him the tired smile of all those who had seen too much; he knew it had shown on his own face way too often._

_He could only shrug._

_She went on her way, oblivious to what had just happened, and he immediately stole into the room._

_Because it couldn’t be – he must be mistaken, he must –_

_But he wasn’t._

_Crowley._

_The man lying in the bed was Crowley, or at least his meat suit._

_Crowley. Who he had last seen in an apocalyptic wasteland stabbing himself for them. Crowley, the former King of Hell. Crowley, his friend._

_Although he would never have called him that in front of Sam or Cas._

_Crowley- or at least his meat suit. He couldn’t be sure._

He still wasn’t sure. And yet he came here at least once a week, sometimes even twice or thrice; Sam and Cas usually thought he was going to a bar when he announced he had plans for the evening.

He cleared his throat. “Sure hope you haven’t been up to anything when I wasn’t there to keep an eye on you. These nurses and doctors have done a marvellous job keeping you alive, it would just be ungrateful at this point to harm them –“

It sounded asinine to his own ears, which was why he usually preferred to read to him. And so, feeling a little silly as always, he took _Breakfast of Champions_ out of his briefcase – why Sam never questioned his reasoning of going on drives in his fed suit, he’d never understand – and sat down next to the bed.

“Where were we? Ah yes, Chapter 11... _Dwayne Hoover slept until ten at the New Holiday Inn. He was much refreshed. He had a Number Five Breakfast in the popular restaurant of the Inn, which was the Tally-Ho Room. The drapes were drawn at night. They were wide open now. They let the sunshine in_.” He looked at the unresponsive figure on the bed. “I sure hope you appreciate that I don’t just keep reading Slaughterhouse-Five to you over and over, because that’s clearly his best work.”

He was about to continue when the door opened and nurse Gibran ushered in. “Agent.”

“Miss.”

“I heard you were back again – it’s so nice of you to look after our Mr. Doe.”

“Protect and serve, ma’am.” Because he was known here as an agent, he couldn’t claim Crowley as kin, which he probably would have done otherwise, if he was being honest with himself. So, here he was, the good Samaritan. If Crowley had been awake, he would have found it funny, most likely.

“Still – he hadn’t had a single visitor until you came.” She looked at Crowley. “Poor man.”

He suppressed a laugh. Crowley would have hated that. “Yeah, well... I’ve been through the missing persons’ reports, but there doesn’t seem to be a description that fits.”

He’d been careful to talk about that more than once, lest one of the doctors or nurses had the idea on their own and he would have to deal with the family of a missing literary agent from new York. He had no idea what his name had even been, but he must have been gone for a long time now, and that would mean that –

He usually stopped when he’d reached that point of his contemplations, because -  because –

Well, because of the same reason he had not brought Cas here to heal Crowley so they could talk to him.

It was pathetic, as he well knew.

And yet. And yet.

What if this wasn’t Crowley? What if he’d end up with another traumatized human on their hands? Not that the guy wouldn’t deserve a second chance – no matter what he had done to attract Crowley’s attention, no one deserved being dragged around the glove by a demon looking for a free ride – but – but –

“We all appreciate that you keep looking. You have no idea.” She looked at Crowley again. “There’s just something about him,... I’m sure someone out there just miss him.”

Again he had to be careful to keep his expression neutral. Yes, there was someone who had been missing Crowley more than they should, and he didn’t mean his mother.

There was a reason he came here once a week, after all.

After she had left, he continued with the book, always hoping that if he only did it long enough, Crowley would wake up and tell him to shut up in the most British way possible while demanding tea or Criag or something, just so he’d know immediately it was him. Human, but still –

Because that was the other thing.

Whoever was in there, they were human. Dean had made several tests – holy water, iron, salt – it all pointed to the same conclusion.

Which meant that it was more than likely that it wasn’t Crowley –

And his thoughts were going in circles again. Great.

The flutter of wings behind him told him that the game was up. He closed his eyes. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean. I was curious where you were going.”

“You could have just asked, man.” He still hadn’t taken his eyes off Crowley.

“Would you have told me?”

Cas stepped up to him. Dean didn’t have to look up to know he was tilting his head to the side while studying the prone man on the bed. “Yes.”

They both knew it was a lie. Neither of them mentioned it. “I noticed you never smelled of liquor when you came home” Cas said casually. “I wondered why, if you were going to a bar, as Sam insisted.”

“Sometimes Sammy can be pretty blind” he mumbled.

Cas’ hand found his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Dean, whoever that is, they’re –“

“Human. Yeah. I know.”

“Oh.” Apparently Cas understood now why he had never told him. “I could heal him.”

“I know.”

A pause.

Then, Cas announced, “And I will.”

Of course he would. This was Cas. Naturally he’d want to help. And then they would be certain.

His hand left Dean’s shoulder as he stepped up to the bed and their eyes met for the first time since the angel had arrived.

Dean put his book away.

Cas touched Crowley’s forehead.

Nothing.

For a moment, Dean didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved; then Cas frowned and did it again, and once more for –

A hand shot up and swatted his away. “What do you think –“ Crowley’s eyes blinked open. “Feathers? What are you doing?” He turned his head and saw Den. “Squirrel?”

He immediately relaxed. Crowley. That was Crowley. There was no one else who would call them that, apart from the fact that he would have known that voice anywhere. “Hey, your Highness. Back amongst the living?”

Crowley blinked. “Evidently. Now –“ He tried to sit up and failed. Dean was out of his chair in an instant.

“Careful, you just woke up from a coma, and you’re human.”

“You don’t say” Crowley muttered; he had grown pale, and he leaned back and closed his eyes again while Dean pressed the call button.

“You better make yourself invisible to others” he advised Cas; he nodded and presumably followed his advice.

Nurse Gibran came in. Her eyes widened. “Oh my. I didn’t – Good evening, Mr...”

And Crowley, weak and human but still as annoying as ever, it seemed, looked at her and gave her a benign smile as he answered, “Winchester.”

Dean was going to kill him once he was back in full health. And this time, he’d make sure he wouldn’t come back-

“Oh, like the rifle.”

“Exactly.”

“Seems like you are something of a fairy godmother, agent” she said, bustling about Crowley, “I’m sure a doctor will be here soon...”

Ah. Of course. He couldn’t very well tell her he was used to medical procedures because where he came from, they usually involved amateurs, knives and lots of band aids. “I’ll step out for a moment. I am so pleased to meet you, Mr. Winchester.”

This time it was Crowley who was throwing him a dirty look and he grinned as he left, shooting Cas a glance to make sure he stayed put.

Once the door had closed behind him, he took out his phone. This was not something he could keep a secret any longer. Sure, Crowley would probably have to stay in the hospital for another few weeks or so, but then he’d need a room. They couldn’t just let him run around on his own. Every demon in Hell would be glad to kill him, plus he knew a lot about lore.

There. Dean Winchester had totally not sentimental reasons for taking in the former King of Hell. Hah.

When his brother picked up, he said, “Hey, Sammy. Two Things: First of all, this is good news, so don’t worry; and second of all, don’t start complaining until I’m done explaining what just happened...”


End file.
